


Mask of the Blue Death

by Andrina_Nightshade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Based on Edgar Allen Poe's Masque of the Red Death, COVID-19 implied but not directly mentioned, F/M, Major character death - Freeform, Please read all tags before proceeding, Rey is the Grim Reaper/Blue Death, This is a dark fic, description of illness, inspired by current events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrina_Nightshade/pseuds/Andrina_Nightshade
Summary: At a party on a secluded island, a mysterious woman asks Ben for a dance...Beware the tags before you embark on this!Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe's "Masque of the Red Death". Written for #Monstober2020. Day 31: Grim Reaper
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 14





	Mask of the Blue Death

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please take note of all content warnings listed. This is a potentially triggering fic for many people, especially those who may have been affected by COVID-19 or watched a loved one suffer as a result. This story does not in any way attempt to trivalise this - it is a re-interpretation of "The Masque of the Red Death", with all its implications re the elite believing themselves to be above nature and rules (and death reminding them that it is the great leveller).
> 
> For many of us, fiction is a means to escape life - explore fantastical worlds or live out fantasies. But fiction is also a mirror, a way of exploring the darker side of life and humanity, a means of processing our trauma and making sense of the hellscape that is the world today.
> 
> As a healthcare worker caring for those affected by this pandemic, I ask that please wear a mask and social distance to prevent the spread, and potentially save lives.

The rhythm of the song pounded like a heartbeat as his eyes fell upon her. She hovered at the edge of the room, sipping red wine, the skirts of her blue gown swaying in time to the music. Something about her caused the breath to still in Ben’s chest.

He had never seen her before - odd, as he knew every other person in this room. She might have been a newer, or more distant, of Snoke’s acquaintances, suddenly elevated to the status to grant an invitation here… Only - and a frown tugged at his mouth - Ben did not recall seeing her on the boat when they arrived. The vessel was a small thing, and all the guests had huddled in the cabin as they traversed windswept seas to get to Eilean Èag .  But then, most of them were clad in heavy coats and masks, and so she could have blended in easily with the crowd.

It was to be a small and intimate gathering, Snoke told his guests when they arrived. Merely two dozen of his hale and healthy friends. They had all obeyed the quarantine rules, all came with their negative health screens, before they were even allowed passage onto the boat. 

It was far from a tropical paradise - winds battered the island, and the air was so heavy with rain that his lungs stung with every breath until they got indoors. Smoke from the enormous fire teased his nostrils, but he was grateful to be warm and  _ dry. _

He took a slow gulp of his whiskey - a rich, peaty variety that stung in his throat - and seemed then to catch her eye. Her countenance - which even from afar had seemed so grim - suddenly melted into a smile, her scarlet lipstick a contrast to the bone white of her teeth.

A flush came over him. Was it the alcohol or was it discomfort at being caught staring? He drew a sharp hiss of breath, and watched as she moved through the crowd, quiet and graceful as a shadow.. 

And then, she stopped before him, and quickly downed the contents of her glass. A single droplet of wine lingered on her lip, and she licked it away. Up close, he saw that her lipstick was not the blood red he had thought; there was a blue tinge that made it appear almost purple. But all musing on the hue of her make up faded as she reached out a pale hand.

“Would you dance with me?”

Ben’s heart quickened, his mouth parched despite the copious measure of whiskey he had already imbibed. He nodded, and took her hand. Her fingers felt oddly cool against his burning flesh, a delicious contrast.

Their dance had neither form nor grace; just two bodies swaying to the melody. Her blue skirts rippled with their steps, and he marvelled at the colour. Neither cobalt nor navy, not a hue he could remember seeing. The closest approximation - and quite why his mind took this route, Ben could not understand - was the colour of asphyxiation. 

He gave a cold shudder at the thought, even as his skin felt hot as a fever. Perspiration gathered on his brow, a droplet of sweat trailing past his eye like a teardrop.

Her name, she told him as they danced, was Rey. She had known Snoke “for an eternity”, but was unwilling to divulge little else of her acquaintance with the man. Ben himself had always been quiet, reticent, and did not feel the need to press her for further details. Not when he was already so intoxicated with her; she was so beautiful, it almost hurt to breathe.

Their dance grew furious; spins and twirls that rendered him dizzy and gasping, and caused her gown to undulate like a crashing wave upon the island’s shore. 

The music grew quicker - no, perhaps it was drowned out by the incessant howling of the storm outside, which only seemed to increase in ferocity. The mansion seemed to groan beneath it’s rage.

But all thought in him perished when Rey suddenly leaned up to kiss him. Her breath, her lips were icy cold, the antidote to his scorched flesh. Another rigor ripped through him, and he gasped against her lips. His heart thundered beneath his chest. 

Too soon, he ripped his lips from hers as his lungs burned for air. 

Ice cold fingers brushed the hair from his brow. Oh, what a balm her touch offered!

As groggy as their dance - or was it the alcohol? - had rendered him, Ben felt the stirrings of arousal. A few hairs had loosened from her bun, and fell around her pale face in soft tendrils. Her skin glistened too. 

What would it be like, he fantasised, to watch her come undone? To share  _ la petite mort  _ with her? His thoughts raced alongside his heartbeat.  _ I could dance with you like this for the rest of my life. _

Lightning flashed behind them; in the illumination, her smile - which earlier had seemed so soft - took on an almost macabre appearance for but a heartbeat. She leaned close to kiss him again, gentler this time. Even still, when she pulled away, his lungs hungered for air as his body hungered for her.

“You already have, Ben Solo,” she whispered, winding her fingers through his. 

Ben’s limbs, which had grown heavy and aching with their exertions, felt suddenly light. Almost as though he could float away. She led him away from the dance floor. 

Distantly, he heard the sounds of laughter die, and the music stopped abruptly.

But, with Rey’s hand clutching onto him like life itself, he walked with her into the darkened hallway, deaf to the shrieks echoing in the ballroom. As even this faded, she kissed him again, with the promise of much more to come...

Outside, the seas grew calm; and the wind dropped to but a whisper in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you have found any of this material upsetting, and feel that it could have been differently tagged such that you would have avoided it, please let me know and I will (a) apologise for any upset I caused you, and (b) update the tags accordingly.


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